


i'll hold you down (to lift you up)

by misura



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Fucking Machines, M/M, Villain sentenced to the fucking machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: T'Challa sees to it that Erik gets what he deserves.
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/T'Challa
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101
Collections: Done Reading(the Good Stuff), Id Pro Quo 2020





	i'll hold you down (to lift you up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yen/gifts).



Erik hadn't said much as they'd put him to the machine, the faces of the Dora Milaje impassive. T'Challa allowed himself to imagine Erik trying to keep quiet as the machine would begin its cycle, starting slowly, almost gently, as a new lover might, opening him up bit by bit until he would be begging for more, harder, deeper.

It would, T'Challa thought, looking at the expression on Erik's face (still defiant, still so _angry_ ), take a very long time. Perhaps even long enough to decide what he would do next - as far as Wakandan law was concerned, Erik was his, entirely and absolutely, to do with as he pleased.

There were a great many things that would please him, T'Challa thought. He hoped - allowed himself to hope, that they would also be things that would please Erik. _And if not, I shall simply have to be patient and teach him._

"My king," Okoye said. T'Challa wondered what she had seen on his face. Her expression showed no hint of judgment but perhaps a hint of sympathy.

"Leave us," he said. What was to come would be his alone. For some future punishments, perhaps, an audience might be desirable or welcome, but for this very first one, T'Challa preferred privacy.

"At once," Okoye said. None of the Dora even looked at Erik as they left.

Possibly a good thing, T'Challa decided. He wasn't quite sure how he'd have reacted to anyone touching what was his.

"So you're going to have me fucked to death by a machine, is that it?" Fifteen minutes. Longer than T'Challa had expected, even after he'd fiddled with the settings. (He kept wanting to change them again, to speed things up, to make things last longer. How did anyone judge these things, doing what was right and just, rather than what was their desire?)

"You will not die," T'Challa said. "I will not permit it."

Erik laughed. His expression was beginning to get just a little bit less than calm. "Oh, and that's a call you get to make, is it? Why? 'cause you're the king?"

"Yes," said T'Challa. He wanted, badly, to touch Erik, to hold him, to either press him down and see him break, or to pull him off of the machine altogether, to offer tenderness and forgiveness and to feel for himself what it would be like to feel Erik open up for him.

"Screw you," Erik said. "And screw this whole damn country."

T'Challa decided that a public spanking might be a very good idea, provided he'd be able to control himself long enough to get Erik to a more private place, after.

Half an hour felt both like a far longer time and like no time at all. Erik tried hard to remain stoic, but then, the machine had been built to allow for that, to serve kings and Black Panthers and mere angry young men equally well.

He'd closed his eyes. T'Challa watched him breathe, only sometimes glancing at where the machine was slowly thrusting its way into Erik's body, in and out and in again, the rhythm steadier than any human might have achieved.

"So how does this end?" Erik asked, opening his eyes. The expression on his face was angry again.

 _With you, screaming as you come on my cock,_ T'Challa thought, and he saw Erik flinch a bit, as if he'd said the words out loud.

"How do you think it will end?" he asked. He wanted - Wakanda allowed for a great many things.

"Hey, you want some of this, I say come and get me. I'm right here, you know," Erik said. He sounded, to T'Challa, only a little bit desperate.

"Maybe later." There was not, T'Challa thought, any 'maybe' about it.

"What, afraid this machine's got you beat when it comes to size _and_ technique?" Erik said. "Now that's just embarrassing."

"I have nothing to prove to you," T'Challa said. Erik would be a little loose already by now, and all lubed up. If T'Challa were to free him - get him off the machine, at least, he might slide right inside, show Erik once and for all who was king here.

"You keep telling yourself that," Erik said, and then he closed his eyes again, and T'Challa watched his body tense and relax again, and again, with each movement of the machine.

One of the Dora Milaje had brought refreshments - for T'Challa only, it went without saying. He'd considered putting a glass of water to Erik's lips and watch the way he swallowed, but Erik had been trying hard to hide his reactions again, and not saying much, and T'Challa had permitted himself to be petty.

It wasn't even true pettiness, he told himself. Had Erik asked, T'Challa would have given him water, or food, or anything else Erik might desire within reason.

"So what's it going to take to get me off of this, huh?" Erik asked.

"This is a punishment, not a negotiation," T'Challa said.

"Could've just killed me."

"Yes," T'Challa said.

Erik looked at him. "You want to fuck me instead, is that it? Keep me around for some kinky fun and hope I won't cut your throat the moment your back's turned? Better be careful, coz."

T'Challa smiled. "I am always careful. But thank you for your concern. Coz."

"Damn, some messed up family we are," Erik said. "And this fucking thing just keeps going, and well, I suppose this is where I start begging you or something?"

"If you wish," T'Challa said. He liked the idea of Erik begging. He didn't think it would happen any time soon, though - not really. Not the sort of desperate begging he wanted, needed to hear before letting himself fuck Erik.

"I wish - " Erik started, closing his eyes again. "I wish you'd let me come. That's how this ends, isn't it? I come, knowing it's a machine that did it to me, and you get to act all high and mighty and morally superior for keeping your hands off of me."

"It is a very well-made machine," T'Challa said.

Erik laughed. "Fine, fine. So how's this. I blow you, you get me off. Fair deal, right?"

"Again," T'Challa said, "this is not a negotiation. It is a punishment."

Erik's silence after that didn't last long. It had been close to an hour already: a long time for a man no longer strengthened by the heart-shaped herb.

T'Challa watched as the machine sped up and Erik stopped resisting, opening his legs just a little wider or meeting the machine's thrust with one of his own. He was beautiful - still dangerous, but touchable, tameable. T'Challa almost came from watching him and listening to the sounds Erik was making now, panting and moaning and swearing in at least a dozen languages.

He forced himself to wait for Erik, to be there when Erik came - screaming, yes, but with no man's cock up his ass, to pull Erik off of the machine and onto the bed and curl up beside him, finishing himself off with one hand while thinking of all the other things he might do to put Erik in a state like this.


End file.
